Whatever It Takes
by katielovessherlockandloki
Summary: Post CA: TWS An old friend comes back to give solace to Steve. With a gritty past and a firey attitude to boot, she's one of the only ties left between Steve and their old friend Bucky. With her recounting her past while trying to get Steve on his feet, old and new feelings start to arise. [Steve/OC/Bucky]
1. Chapter 1

**Oh, lord. A new fanfic... Here we go!**

**Everything but my darling Frances Morgan belong to Marvel. Enjoy!**

"Are you sure this is alright? I mean, she's psycho."

"She's the only living person from Captain Rogers' past that we could get into contact with. She's all we got."

"I don't like her. The way she looks at you..."

"Yeah, I know. Let's just get this over with."

Frankie's head rises as the doors open and she smiles, standing up and holding out her hands, the cuffs jingling lightly. The guards looked at her warily, and one of them held her arm as the other unlocked the cuffs.

"Come on, boys. Just let it go... I could wringle my way out by now. You have nothing to fear." she says, tilting her head to the side. They didn't reply and took her arms, pulling her out of the armored truck, walking into the gym. They let her go, and she smiles, seeing an old friend.

"Hello, Director Fury. I see you've found my long lost friend." Frankie says, crossing her arms. He looked at her grimly with his one eye, but he always failed to scare or intimidate her. She guessed being 300+ years old would make her pretty fearless to most things. She walked with him down the hallway, not hearing any sounds of people working out or practicing. It was practically abandoned.

"Now, Frances, you know better than to pull any... tricks. It won't end well. We just need you to... help Steve. No one has been the same since New York and now Washington, and he could use your help. And, he may open up to you a bit since you've had a past together." Fury says, his hands clasped behind his back. Frankie's jaw clenched. A past? Most defiently. One she didn't like to recount all that much for weakness reasons.

"Of course. I'll try my best." she says with a forced smile and they stopped at a door, and Frankie heard the sound of someone beating something profusely. She pushed open the door, and Fury didn't follow. She didn't expect him to, and saw a familiar face... or, well, back.

"Stevie!" she cries, throwing her hands up. The blond whirled around, hands still poised infront of his face and then he relaxed, his hands dropping, his face white.

"F-Frankie?" he says in disbelief, his eyes wide. She smiles, walking over and embracing him tightly like they had only not seen eachother for a day or two and not 70 years.

"Of course, who else?" she says, and Steve pushed her away, confusion still plain on his face.

"How? I thought... Just... what?" he questions, backing up and looking her over. She shrugs, crossing her arms.

"You got frozen in ice and I just tend to... not die." she says simply with a smile. Steve looked at her, his gaze softening.

"Finally..."

"Someone you know? Yeah, I know. I missed you, too, Stevie. How's the 21st century treating you?" she questions, sitting on one of the benches. He walks over, taking a towel and slinging it over his shoulder, grabbing a water bottle with S.H.E.I.L.D. printed across it in black letters.

"Uh... pretty well, I suppose." he says, guzzling down the liquid. She raises her eyebrows.

"Have you even encountered a computer yet?"

"A what?" he replies dumbly, and Frankie laughed, standing up.

"Oh, Stevie. You've got so much to learn. How about we talk it over with coffee? Sound good?" she says, standing up. He looked at her, opening his mouth to answer, but she raised her hand.

"Good. Meet me at the Starbucks on the corner. Just don't be late." she says, pinching his cheek like a child and turned, walking out of the gym, the door slamming behind her, leaving Steve with a dumbfounded expression.

"You sure you want to do this, man? I've heard bad things about this chick..." Sam says, walking down the street at Steve's side. Steve sighs, rubbing his eyes.

"I... I don't know. This is... this is so much. First, I find out Bucky's still alive, then Frankie shows up looking like she hadn't aged a day. I... I have to talk to Frankie. If she knows anything, it's her." he says, seeing the coffee shop come into view, a familiar red-head sitting outside. Sam and Steve came to a stop, waiting for the light to turn red.

"Does she know? About Bucky?" Sam questions, watching her carefully. He didn't want Steve confronting this psychopath alone, not when he knew what she was capable of.

"I don't know..." Steve says, putting his hands in his pockets.

"You said they were close? A long time ago?" Sam says, his eyebrows furrowing. Steve looks at the back of her head, memories wafting in like clouds.

"Yeah... Something like that..."

_"You are insane. Both of you." Frankie says, crossing her arms. Her hair was pulled up in tight red curls like the girls in the magazines. Steve didn't know how she did it, remaining so pretty yet lethal at the same time. _

_"Aw, come on, sweet heart. We're soldiers. What else are we supposed to do?" Bucky says, wrapping an arm around Frankie's slim waist, planting a kiss on her cheek. She rolls her eyes, patting his chest lightly. She looked at Steve with a smile, _

_"Watch out for him, alright? Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." she says, raising her eyebrows. Bucky gasps, _

_"I am offended. Normally, it's me covering for Steve's ass. Not the other way around." he says defensively. Alice looks at the two with a weak smile. _

_"Just... Don't get killed. Because I still gotta teach Steve how to dance for Peggy." Frankie laughs, and Steve blushes lightly, looking away. He stands straight, just like he was taught to, and Bucky wrapped an arm around Frankie again. _

_"And, you're gonna save me a dance as well?" He questions, but it sounded more like a statement. Frankie smiles, looking to him with green eyes that were to die for._

_"I'll see."_

Steve and Sam crossed the street quickly, pulling Steve from those memories. He stopped a few feet away, looking to Sam with a nod. Sam nods, walking into one of the shops, remaining close. Steve walked over, taking a breath. He walked up to Frankie's table, and she stands up, smiling.

"Hello, Steve." she says, holding her hand out for a handshake instead of a hug. He guessed she must have rechecked her boundaries from when they first met up again. He took her hand that still felt so soft and fragile, and shook it firmly. He knew all too well to not be fooled. Those fingers could pull a trigger or slit a throat. Deception was always an asset to Frankie.

He sat across from her hesitantly, and she sat in her spot slowly. She looks at him with a smile, the cup of tea in front of her, still steaming. She stirred it with a small spoon.

"How've you been, Steve?" she questions casually, her green eyes flickering to his. As she asked it, everything flashed across his mind. The plane, the ice, New York, Loki, Germany, Bucky's fall, the Helecarriers, Bucky's form pulling him out of the water in the dam. He blinks, shifting in his spot.

"Uh... good. I guess. You know, just... saving the world." he says, smiling weakly. Frankie sipped her tea, looking over the rim at him. She set it down slowly, leaning back.

"Yes, you do have a knack for that, don't you? I've heard of all of your heroics. Very daring, and brave. You haven't changed." she says with a sweet smile. He shrugs, glancing around.

"And neither have you." he says. The two sat in silence for a few moments, but it wasn't an awkward one, at least Frankie didn't think so.

"Where have you been?" Steve questions, and Frankie bites her lip.

"Well, that depends... should I sugar coat it, or-"

"Frankie." Steve says, meeting her eyes. She sighs, shrugging.

"Alright... Fine. I've jumped my way around the world. Brushed death many times, been locked up, tortured, dismembered, even, in Iran. But it sure did freak them out when my leg and fingers grew back." she says with a smirk. Steve tried to remain calm, collected. He had gotten pretty good at it over the years.

"Which reminds me... as to tell you why i'm here. Or, how i'm here." she says, leaning forward, her elbows on the table.

"There was no ice to keep me under, Stevie. Nothing to keep me comatose. After you went under in the ice... I just continued living. For, what, 75 years? I don't know, i lose track around 25." she says, pursing her lips.

"So... you live forever, basically?" he says dully, his eyes sharp, unyielding. She nods,

"Yeah. There's... not many others like me. I did meet one, a Canadian-"

"Why didn't you come to me? You must have heard I was awake." Steve snaps, and Frankie looks at him, feeling guilt crawl into her chest.

"I... I did. I couldn't. I was in a Chinese prison. They're nasty folk, you know. They fed me dog and cat like it was sheep and cow. They kept me there for... God, I don't know. I got out about two years ago. I moved around to Russia by then, then Poland, then London. Ran into one of the other Avengers at my brief stay there-" Frankie explains, getting lost in the story but Steve dragged her back to reality.

"Bucky's alive, Frankie." he says softly. Frankie's hand balled into a fist, her knuckles turning white. She looks down at the tea cup, then took a thoughtful sip.

"I know. I ran into him a couple of times, actually. Never ended well with whoever I was with."


	2. Chapter 2

**Russia 1984**

_God, it was cold. The air was a dry cold, as well. snow flurried around Frankie's form as she stood outside of the mansion. She was protecting a Polish scientist. A biologist. She didn't know what he knew, and quite drankly didn't care. Her hand was wrapped around a semi-automatic shotgun. She heard something, like slight rustling. She cocked the gun, both hands on it, one hand on the trigger. She walked inside, shutting the door behind her. _

_"Doctor Jervinoski?" she calls, walking to the study when someone grabbed her from behind, around her neck. They squeezed tight, and Frankie gasped, using the butt of the gun and ramming it into their stomach. It bounced off like it was against rubber but the person let go. Her neck was cold, like someone had wrapped metal around it. She whirled around, and met a fist to her face. She jerked back, hitting a table and knocking it over, along with the books that sat upon it. She used the gun and raised it above her head, blocking another blow that would have surely knocked her out. _

_She moved her foot, angling it to lean on and pivoted herself up, diving under the arm of her opponent and shoved the barrel of the gun into the arm of the man, and should have dislocated his arm. She was met with the sound of metal on wood, and heard a crack. She moved to the end of the hall, seeing the figure a bit more clearly. Long brown hair, strongly built, much bigger than her. Silver arm... no, metal. Red star. _

_She would never forget that red star as long as she lived. _

_He turns, and faces her, his eyes meeting hers. Her stomach almost dropped in shock, and her grip on the shotgun tightened. _

_"Bucky." she whispers, not even having to question it. He was unfazed, and walked towards her, grabbing her by the throat, slamming her against the wall with a CRACK of her skull. It should have given her a concussion, and knocked her out, but it didn't. She couldn't kill him, but something told her he would kill her. She gripped his wrist that was locked tightly around her throat, meeting cold, emotionless blue eyes that she had known decades ago._

_"Bucky, let go!" she shouts, and his grip only tightened. She gasped, feeling her throat begin to close up. She took the gun in her hands, hitting him in the ribcage. She heard a splintering CRACK and he pushed her away. They fell in opposite directions, her onto the floor and him onto the wall. He was holding his side, his metal arm flexing. She lay on the floor, gasping for air, the gun to the side. She looked at him, and they locked eyes for a moment. And she was so sure he was going to kill her, or take her. Her eyes never left his, and he just stared back._

_Then he turned and left without another sound. _

"Then, not long after, I found the doctor. He was dead. A single bullet to the head, clean shot from behind at point blank range." she says, looking back up at Steve. He listened carefully, taking everything in. He had looked over Bucky's file atleast a hundred times, trying to find out everything. But he hadn't found a first hand account of him, besides actually fighting with him himself.

"So, he never recognized you?" he says. Frankie shook her head,

"No. Not to my knowledge. Any emotion was gone. He showed no signs of mercy, or even pain. The only way I knew I had gotten him was when he held his ribs, and i heard it, too. It was... it was frightening, Steve. It wasn't Bucky." she says. She shifts in her seat, sitting up.

"And, I know it wasn't him because he wouldn't have left this." she says, pulling her scarf down and several marks were around the sides of her neck, like someone had grabbed it. Steve looks away, could Bucky really have done it? All of that? There was no way...

"He was brainwashed." Steve says, and Frankie nods,

"Yes." she says, as if to account to it. She put the scarf back in place.

"I could have let it heal. My neck. But, I didn't. I didn't want to let it go." she says, looking down. Steve looks at her, and for a second, he saw something flash across her face. Pain. Anger. Guilt. Sadness. But it was gone in a split second. She looks up, smiling lightly.

"Anyway, come on. Let's walk. We have much to catch up on." she says, standing up and offering him her arm just like they would if they were walking on the streets of Broadway in 1941. He stood up, taking her arm in his, smiling lightly.

"Yeah... It's good to see you, Frankie."

**Sorry, I had to divide these two up... But oh, well! That means two chapters in one day! :O **

**Review, favorite, follow? It would make my day :3 **

**Updates to come soon!**

**-K**


	3. Chapter 3

**I hope you guys like this one. Bucky finally comes in.. [x**

Frankie walked into her apartment, dead tired from today's activities. She sighs, still humming some tune that she heard on the radio.

Steve was still a bit reluctant on trusting her, and she understood that. She did talk to him a bit more as they strolled the streets, and she met one of Steve's new friends, Sam Wilson. He was pretty nice, and funny as hell. But, of course, she got the impression he didn't trust her much either.

She set her keys down, beginning to take off her jacket when she switched the light on.

"Jesus, fuck!" she exclaimed, taking a step back. A figure sat at her table, one hand on the table, the other against his chest. She relaxed slightly when he didn't move, not even to look at her. She took another step forward, and he still didn't move. She noted how beat he looked. He wore some old civilian looking clothes, and a hat was tossed to the side on the table.

"You can't be here, Bucky, S.H.E.I.L.D. will-" she began, but then just lost any thought to it. Bucky was here. He came to _her. _He found her, and came to her.

"Help." he mumbles, and Frankie let the jacket drop to the floor, walking over to him.

"What happened?" she whispers, pulling up a chair. He kept silent, beginning to pull his jacket off, but felt him tense with pain.

"Easy." she says, carefully slipping if off of his shoulders.

"My arm. It's broken." he says dully, like it was a disappointment on his part. She touched his arm lightly, gently, pressing onto it lightly.

"You need to tell me where the pain is."

"I don't feel it-"

"Bucky." she spat, looking at him. He wasn't even facing her, his face to the side, his eyes resting on the hat on the table. Every time she said his name he seemed to pull away, just for a second. Go off into his mind.

She continued to move down his arm, and when she got to his elbow and wrist he sucked in a breath. She sighs,

"The good thing is, is it's not broken. Just dislocated. How long has it been like this?" she questions, moving around on the chair to get a better angle on it.

"A week." he says, and Frankie looked at him.

"Jesus Christ. You've been in pain for that long?" she whispers, pity stinging her heart.

"No. I didn't feel it till two days ago." he mumbles, and Frankie looked down at his arm. She understood why he didn't go to a hospital. Police and S.H.E.I.L.D. would be on him in seconds. She took his arm in her hands,

"Alright, this is probably going to hurt. Grab onto something, alright? Try to not move your arm." she says, and he nods, grabbing onto the table. She nods, taking a deep breath.

"1... 2... 3." she says and pulled his elbow back, feeling a _pop_ and it was back in place. He hisses in pain, his head leaning forward, his hair hiding his face.

"Alright, that was good... Very good. Okay, keep holding onto the table. 1... 2... 3." she says and twisted his wrist, feeling it set back into place. Suddenly Bucky whirled around and grabbed her by the throat, leaning her chair back on two legs, her feet off the ground. She seemed unfazed by it, and she held onto his metallic wrist lightly.

"Let me go. Bucky." she says softly, and his gaze softened, and he slowly set her down, letting her go. He stood up, grabbing his jacket. She stood up,

"If you think you're leaving, you better just stop, Like, right now." she says, raising her eyebrows.

"I can't stay." he mumbles, and she put an arm on his shoulder, the one she had just fixed.

"Oi, just calm it down a second." she says, and he froze. That phrase, that voice. He knew it. He had heard it before.

_"Oi, just calm it down a second." the girl says, sitting at the booth in a dim little diner. She wipes her mouth off a sweet substance he had tasted only moments before. Red hair. Green eyes. A smile to die for._

_"Can't I finish my ice cream first?" _

"Bucky?" she questions,and he blinks, looking at her. He saw something flicker in her eyes, green eyes. It couldn't be the same. That memory was from two lifetimes ago.

"Do you know who I am?" she says softly, and he looked at the jacket and hat that he clutched in his hands.

"Frances Morgan. Age 28. Birthplace unknown. Parents unknown. Mission 1999. You were my mission." he whispers, remembering reading the file. She nods.

"And?"

"It was a long time ago. I failed."

_**Estonia. 1999.**_

_Frankie stood in the hallway of a church. _

_She wasn't much of a religious person. Never was. But, she loved to walk into churches and see the arcitecture, the paintings, the glass windows, and feel the atmosphere. It was beautiful. _

_This one was just done with Sunday mass. There was no one in sight, and someone had left the doors open, presumabley for people to come in for confessions. _

_She was not one of those people. _

_She knew who was coming for her. She was waiting. She had led him here, and wanted to see him. She told herself over and over he wouldn't recognize her. He would kill her. Or try. She stood in the middle of the aisle, tapping her foot lightly on the stone floor, it echoed around the room. She heard him come in like a gust of winter winds in the fall. _

_"So you found me." she questions, turning around. He stood in the corner, the mask over his face, concealing everything but his eyes. The eyes that could bring her to her knees. _

_He didn't reply, and she didn't expect him to. She put her hands in her pockets, shrugging. _

_"Do it." she says, tilting her head to the side. _

_"Kill me." she offers, raising her hands. _

_He didn't hesitate. She was his mission, and he was going to finish it. _

_She felt one bullet, and that was all he should have needed. She fell back onto the floor, hitting it with a CRACK. She felt the blood seep through her jacket, onto the floor. She didn't gasp, or struggle. She wanted to die, but she knew that wasn't going to be the case, not today. She let her eyes flutter shut, and already the healing process was in motion. She heard him walk over, his heavy boots hitting the floor with a thud. She felt him stand over her, like a hunter looking upon his kill. He bent down, and put his cold metallic fingers to her neck. _

_"Winter Soldier. Target elimanted. Mission complete." he says into a radio that crackled slightly. She felt his fingers slowly lift and in that split millisecond she grabbed the gun that was clutched in his hands and opened her eyes, swinging it around and hitting him in the jaw. The force was enough to push him onto his ass, and Frankie pushed herself to her feet. The bullet fell onto the floor with a small tink. And she took the gun, opening the magazine and let the bullets fall. He looks up at her with hateful eyes and stood up, grabbing her by around the neck, bringing her close to his face. She was so close she could see the flecks of green in them, and the creases around his eyes. Why did they have to be so cold?_

_He shoves her onto one of the pews, her head making contact with the wood. She had her hand locked around his wrist, and her eyes never left his._

_"It's okay, Bucky." he heard the words escape her lips like the soft whisper of a breeze. Another voice, phrase he's heard. He couldn't do it. He couldn't squeeze the trigger. He couldn't break her neck. He couldn't..._

_So he left. Like a ghost._

"And why did you fail?"

Her voice brought him back to the present. He looked at her, meeting those kind green eyes. The only kindess he's experienced in 50 years. Not since... was it a prison? Russia? He couldn't tell.

"Because I remembered."


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, so this one at the beginning is a part where Frankie sees Bucky after a long time. She didn't know he survived the fall till now. This is based loosely on a comic called 'Prisoners of War' (Captain America). I suggest you check it out, it's amazing!**

**And, after that, it's just a very Bucky-centric chapter... tell me what you think? [: **

**-Nothing belongs to me. Just Frankie!-**

**-K**

**Gulag, Russia. 1964**

_"Fight, fight, fight, fight!" _

_The chants of the prisoners filled Frankie's ears. This place was where the dirtiest men go, the ones who've done the worst. Maybe that's why she chose to be transferred here. So much more exciting than Yugoslavia._

_"Ur-sa! Ur-sa! Ur-sa!"_

_The growls and roars of the gigantic bear echoed in the pit. A new prisoner must be getting his initiation. She walked to the edge, people making way for her. They continued chanting, hearing thuds and cracks from the fight. She put her hand on the railing, looking down spitefully. She hated this, the whole idea of some person having to fight for their life to even begin living here. She remembered when she came, and she had to do the same. Not with a bear, of course. Just some grisly man who thought he had her in his clutches and could wrap her around his finger. _

_She snapped his neck in two._

_But whoever had to fight the bear, he must've been hated. She saw a flash of silver, and the mark of a red star. _

_It wasn't uncommon for prisoners to have prosthetics. One of the top fighters had a metal arm as well. She had no idea._

_The fight was brutal. Ursa picked up the man like he was nothing and threw him into the snow. But, he fought back like a tiger. Punches, kicks, head-locks, you name it. Something reminded her of that fighting style. Military. KGB._

_It was over when Ursa took a major blow to the face. That shattered his jaw, probably fractured his skull, too. He was done. For now. _

_The man was kneeled over, panting in the snow. She could see sweat coated on his back, his head hanging low, dark brown hair in his face. One of the people came out as three men dragged Ursa away, and pulled him up, raising his arm. The sounds of booes and cheers were scattered, but to Frankie there was silence when she recognized the face. She felt a stabbing pain in her heart, a dozen memories coming back. _

_How the fuck is Bucky Barnes alive?_

_"Who will lay claim to the victor?" the man shouts in Russia. Whenever the person wins, a certain gang takes them in and teaches them everything they know. One, a pack of Germans looked hungry for him, but Frankie raised her head. She didn't have a gang, but she got along just fine without one. _

_"I will." she replies, raising her hand and silence swept over the crowd like a plague. All eyes turned to her, even the man's tired eyes went to hers. She didn't look at anyone but him, and he only looked at her. _

_"You have no one, _salope!" _someone cried in French. She looked to the man who she knew had spoken to her. _

_"Quiet, Remy, you _bâtard._ I know where you sleep and I will gut you like a pig and display your innards to your children when I am done." she spat, and he glared at her but remained silent. She looked back in the arena and nodded to the man, walking inside. _

_He sat inside a cell waiting for her. Normally, the person would get another beating from the gang to toughen them up, but to Frankie, that wasn't the case. She pulled up a chair, sitting infront of him. He wore a tattered prison jacket, his clothes nearly soaked from the snow. His head was low, and he was looking at his hands. _

_"What is your name?" she inquired in Russia._

_"The Winter Soldier." he replied numbly. She leaned over, grabbing his chin and yanking his face up to hers. She looked into his eyes, the eyes she had known to love and cherish and longed to look at for 20 years. But now, they were empty, lifeless, cold. _

_"I said, a name." she said, her green eyes peircing through his. He looked at her, and she knew. He didn't even know his own name. But she knew it was him. She knew it in her gut. _

_"Fine,_ soldat."_ she hissed, letting go of him a little more gently than she should have._

_This wasn't real. It couldn't be._

_But then again, what wasn't real lately? _

Bucky was plagued with nightmares every time his eyes shut. He couldn't sleep, and he tossed and he turned on Frances' couch. His mind was tired, but his body was in working order. He stood up, looking around. He walked to a bathroom, feeling for the light switch and turned it on. He looked at himself, in the mirror, at his reflection. He didn't know what to expect, or what to do. He just stared. His eyes looked so empty, so tired, so afraid. He definitely needed a shave, that was for sure. He took off his hoodie, then the thin shirt he wore under it. He had snagged it from a small clothing store to make up for his black suit he ditched after getting out of the river. He smelled, and was sweaty, and just felt dirty. He took a washcloth and ran the water, scrubbing at his skin, wanting to wash away all the memories and pain. But, of course, that wouldn't happen.

He did feel better, though, after that. Smelled better, too. He would take care of his face later, not really caring for the scruff. He looked around in the medicine cabinet, accidentally knocking a few things over before finding a comb. He put the things that had dropped back inside gingerly, then shut the door. He looked at his reflection, then began to comb it out. It was a hell of a job, and it made him look for scissors several times, but found none. He finally got it to something suitable, and could brush it back freely. He put the comb back where he found it, careful not to knock anything over this time. He pulled back on his shirt, his eyes tearing away from the reflection. He walked out, and realized there were no sounds or signs of human life in the apartment. Frances had left.

He suddenly felt a pain in his stomach. Hunger.

He walked out, and was surprised to see little pieces of paper on certain things. He walked to a large rectangular box.

'This is the TV. This button turns it on. Do NOT break it' it read, an arrow pointing to a black button in the corner. He rolls his eyes, walking into the kitchen and saw more notes. One on a cabinet labeled 'DO NOT OPEN' and he did anyway, seeing rows of bottles of alcohol. He shuts it, moving on. He saw another box in the corner, reading the note on that one.

'This is the microwave. Put food in it to be warm and press 1. Do NOT put forks/spoons in'.

That could be useful. He took out a piece of bread, and saw something actually familiar. He walked over to the toaster, thanking Frankie for having a device he actually knew how to use. He put it inside, pressing down the lever and waited a few moments before it popped up with a ding. He rifled around her fridge and found some butter, putting it on. He ate it gratefully, but it wasn't enough.

He raided the fridge and took anything that was edible out and piled it all into one sandwich. He did find out one thing, he did NOT like pickles. They were vile.

He drank a whole carton of milk, and tossed everything into a trash bin. Frankie was probably gonna kill him for eating almost everything.

He eventually found a note explaining her absence. 'I'm going out for a bit. Please don't burn the apartment down, love. Thanks. xx -Frankie' He was going to crumble it up, but then realized how something so small could mean something to him. He folded it, sticking it in his pocket, feeling the words burn through it.

He walked into the living room, walking to the bookcase. There were no pictures, but so many books. He went over encyclopedias, dictionaries from different languages, atlases, and other books. He saw one, one that had obviously been read many many times. He pulled out the battered copy, holding it gingerly in his hands, afraid it was going to fall apart.

'_The Philosophers Stone' _it read, with a boy with black mangly hair, glasses, and a lightning scar on his forehead. He didn't even read what it was about before sitting and opening the book, delving into the world of Harry Potter.


End file.
